A Worthy Thane
by Quinz
Summary: Ross recounts the events of the play from his point of view for the new king. He always loved him dearly, but the boy never knew. But Malcolm has some ideas of his own for their meeting. Based on a production of Macbeth I performed in as Ross in 2014. Much of this is based on our production's cast, backstories, and subtext.
1. Chapter 1

I perched on the armrest of his throne. He had asked me to tell my side of the story. How I saw it. Of course, my skills in speech are renowned in the kingdom. And I relished any chance I had to be in his royal company. So I stood, my back to him. Not daring to look into his eyes. Focusing intently on the torn blue drapes over the window. And I spoke.

"When I fought in the battle against Macdonwald, when I witnessed our victory, the man's crowning as the Thane of Cawdor, there was no way I could have forseen such a turn of events. Of course, I caught on before young Lennox did, but that isn't difficult, my king."

His laugh escaped him, gently. "He's always been a naive little fellow, this is true. But you haven't been known to be that swift." Teasing.

"Hm. Well. How kind. I am extremely perceptive," I retorted. I cleared my throat before continuing. "I never once believed you were responsible. Not for a moment. When he tried to lay the blame on you, that was when I knew he was not to be trusted."

"And not when my father was found dead mere days after the tyrant received his thanedom? Had you not even an inkling that he was a murderer?"

"My mind was elsewhere when I received the news."

"Likely because of the whiskey." I felt a sharp pang in the pit of my stomach. I rarely drink. Only at festivities do I touch the bottle. But everyone insisted on bringing it into the conversation. Duff being the worst, but they all rib.

I straighten and turn my head. "My king, you can't tell me that you were not shocked by such news!"

"Of course, Ross. He's my father. I was overcome with grief. But I had other things on my mind as well. I had to think of Donalbain. He and I couldn't stay in Scotland. We knew not who we could trust." He became more and more agitated the longer he spoke. But the word cut me like a knife. _Trust._ I breathed in sharply, finally gathering enough courage to look at him. His eyes were shut tightly and he rubbed his temples.

"Did you not trust me?"

He opened his eyes rather quickly, and met mine. I wavered slightly under his gaze. "Ross-"

"Did you not trust me, my king?"

Silence. I searched his eyes for answers, but he gave no sign of his thoughts.

I sighed. "You trusted me not. I should have known." I reached down to check my pocketwatch. Twenty after 7:00. Nearly dark. "I should be going." I started down the long red carpet.

"Wait!" His voice stopped me in my tracks. I heard his footsteps behind me. As he placed a hand on my shoulder, I flinched. He slowly made his way in front, then turned to face me. His face had softened, his green eyes switching from the unattainable emeralds I had known all these years into warm, welcoming fields of grass in an instant. In an instant, I saw not the King of Scotland, but a man. A simple, loving man. I wanted it to be. I met his gaze

"I will always trust you, Ross. But anyone else? I could never truly know."

Could I? I tentatively began "My dear king..."

But he had already returned to his emeralds. "I said too much. Pay no mind to me. I'm alright."

I broke the eye contact and straightened my lapels.

"I do trust you."

"And I you, Malcolm. ...My king..." God. No. No, no, no. I have made a grave mistake. I stepped backwards a few paces, keeping me eyes on the ground.

"Malcolm." He stepped forward again. Maybe less of a mistake than I thought? He gently brushed a hand under my chin, encouraging me to lock with his eyes once more "Come, we have known each other all these years! Let's not be so formal with one another."

"M- Malcolm?"

"Hm?" He swept my fringe away from my eyes. This can't be happening

"May I..."

"What?"

"Continue?" He stepped back in surprise. "The story, I mean."

He cleared his throat and gave a small laugh. "Of course. May I take your coat?"

"Malcolm"

"Well, it's a long story, is it not?"


	2. Chapter 2

_If I stay here with you. If I stay on your path. What will become of me?_

 _My God, Malcolm. Is this a trick? A test of my character? You pulled one on Duff, I won't fall for you- fall for this. This. Trick._

"Pardon, Ross. I must ask: How is our cousin keeping, after..." He trailed off, neither of us fully acclimated to the new time of his sovereignty, and neither of us fully sure how to behave.

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. "He's... he's trying."

Macduff. My cousin. My best friend and brother in arms. Emotionally stranded. Grieving. Suicidal. Fulfilling everything I cannot express. I remember...

* * *

I knocked on the door, desperate. "Malcolm! Macduff! It's Ross, sirs, let me in!"

The door opened and I found myself staring into Malcolm's green. Macduff stood behind him, eyes clouded with suspicion.

"Sir! I bid you, listen." I stopped, gasping from the run to the safe house. I haven't stopped to rest since I found the kids in Scotland the way they were left.

"What are you doing in England, dear cousin? How is Scotland?" Duff asked me, approaching with caution. Malcolm stood by, eyes never leaving Duff.

I clapped him on the shoulder and held him tight. "How could Scotland be? Could it be the land of our birth? Or the land we die in, Duff, " I ranted through gritted teeth. "Screams and cries everywhere, and nobody notices. Scotland exists in a violent sorrow."

Duff chuckled despite himself as he lead me into the room. "How can you always put the horrible truth in the most beautiful words, Ross?" Malcolm caught my eye with a sharp glare as he closed the door and I wilted slightly.

"My prince, you must return and claim your right. We live a walking nightmare."

Malcolm shook his head. "What has the tyrant done this time?"

Duff took me by the shoulders and looked into my eyes. "My wife and children?

 _No..._

I knew I would deliver my news to him, but now the words caught like molasses in my throat. How could I say?

"W-well."

"Macbeth hasn't put them in harm's way?"

 _How could I say?_

"They were... at... peace..."

"Ross," Duff began in a warning tone. "Why is it now that you choose to mince your words? How. Is. My. Family?"

I inhaled deeply, feeling my stomach roll itself over. "Please, cousin, try not to hate me. I bring the worst news you will ever hear."

Duff looked at me in concern. I could see his mind at work. He knew exactly what I was going to say.

"The... They attacked your home. Wife and children... I dare not speak of how they were killed, it was so brutal, I... I know it would kill you too."

Duff's eyes went wide. "My... children?"

I grasped his hand, squeezing it. The largest show of affection and support I could muster. "Everyone. Wife, children, even the servants. Anyone they could find." I closed my eyes tight, head still reeling. My cousin Safina never hurt a soul. And the eldest child was no more than ten years. Their deaths were so clearly meant to drive Duff to something desperate, a power play on the tyrant's part. And yet, those who suffer, Duff, Safi, the boys? Have they done anything to warrant such a violent and horrid act?

Duff broke his eye contact with me, and I loosed my grip on his hand. He stumbled away from me, and I exchanged a glance with Malcolm, who sent me his deepest apologies with the quickest flash of his green grass eyes. Malcolm followed him as I hung back, listening. "Dearest Macduff, let us take this chance to destroy his reign. Revenge is a sweet thing, they say."

My cousin laughed humorlessly. "What revenge? He has no children." I pulled my goggles down over my eyes, letting the tint of the glass obscure any tear that might have escaped.

Malcolm continued on him like a stalker of his prey. "You take too much to heart. Fight it, good sir, fight it like a man."

"Too much!" Duff spun on his heel and backed Malcolm up. "Too much to heart, my prince? They are my family. It is not manly to feel this?!" Duff sunk to his knees, with a loud choking sob. "It's all my fault."

"Macduff-"

"It is! They were killed because of me. Whatever the tyrant wants of me, he wants it of _me."_ He collapsed. I did not move. I couldn't let myself cry. They were my family as much as his, but it is my mission to stay strong for him. For everyone. Duff's voice, muffled through the ground emitted a shaky "Heaven rest them now."

Malcolm looked my way again, an idea forming. "You must feel this? Then, by God, you feel it. Don't you suppress that grief, that rage, you let it loose, my good man! Let this be your incentive! We take our country back tonight, Macduff!"

Duff wiped his face off and stood slowly, his distraught sobs transforming into a resolve of steel, a barely suppressed fury, the leader of our rebellion. After what seemed like a lifetime, he spoke. "I will. I'll kill this devil. And if he escapes, I _will_ find him. Mark my words." And with that and a slam of the door, he left us. Malcolm and I stood in silence before he gingerly stepped toward me, and I was almost broken.

Malcolm looked me up and down, before pulling me into a tight embrace. He knew. Of course he knew. It was my family, too. I let him hold me. "Now he sounds like a man," Malcolm said gently into my ear. I tried to laugh, but all I could give was a half-hearted exhale. I let him hold me, for what seems like a moment frozen in time. I slowly leaned in to him, wanting it to be.

 _I've loved you since we were boys. The unattainable and the man doomed to love him._

He finally broke the connect. "Come," he said, softly pushing me back. "The English army is ready to strike. We'll meet up with them." He started for the door.

I pulled my goggles off. "My prince?"

He stopped. "Yea?"

"I-I must thank you, I-"

"Be comforted, my sweet Ross." Malcolm smiled at me. My God. I could just kiss him right now.

I didn't.

"Safi and the boys meant a lot to me too," I said. Malcolm stepped toward me again, and took me in a handshake. "I guarantee you, Ross. Tomorrow will be brighter. Remember, the night-"

"-is long that never finds the day, yea," I finished. He came closer, gently wiping a tear away. I caught his wrist.

He looked at me in surprise, then amusement. "My _sweet_ Ross," he laughed.

I didn't.

"Shall we go, my prince?" Malcolm raised his eyebrow, before slowly nodding and heading for the door.

* * *

Malcolm reclined back on his throne. "He needs time. This is hard on him." I nodded in silent agreement. Suddenly, I felt Malcolm's hand on my lower back. "I know it's hard for you, too."

I looked at my shoes. "Yea? How did you come to that conclusion, my ki- I mean, Malcolm?"

Malcolm turned me around to look at him.

I didn't.

Malcolm grasped my shoulder and intoned softly, "Safina was like a sister to you. You don't have to do this."

I looked up then. "Do what?" I inquired.

"Be strong for everyone." He lifted my chin, so I was looking into his eyes again. Somehow, those eyes could stir things up in me that I haven't let myself feel for years. "Not to say you should be weak, but, well, I suppose it's alright to feel it sometimes. Remember, Ross, I lost family to him too. We wear the same colors, my dear."

I can't hold it together. A wave of emotion came over me and I collapsed on the ground. "Hey, hey, it's alright," said Malcolm, kneeling with me. He took my hands in his, letting me cry on the floor. I've not let myself lose control since seven years. It felt... cathartic. It felt right. Malcolm began to run his fingers through my hair, comforting. He pulls my head against his chest and lets me wrap my arms around him, tears staining his velvet blues.

I wanted it to be.


End file.
